


As the Songs of the Dead fill the Space of my Ears

by MS_Mayhem



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: A tiny bit of Eye Gore, Blood and Injury, Boats and Ships, Getting Together, Injury Recovery, Keelhauling, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Sort Of, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MS_Mayhem/pseuds/MS_Mayhem
Summary: It’s said that if you were to be sentenced to keelhauling you would pray that you drowned before you reached the sharp barnacles under the ship which would rip the flesh from your bones.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich & Alex Rider, Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Kudos: 16





	1. All Hands on Deck

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a shanty called "Bones in the Ocean."
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction using character from the Alex Rider series, which belongs to Anthony Horowitz. I do not claim ownership over the characters or the world of Alex Rider.
> 
> This had not been proof read, feel free to point out any glaring mistakes
> 
> (Speech in italics means it's Dutch)

The _Meisje van Amsterdam_ was a ship of the line that sailed under the dutch flag. The ship was built to resemble a dutch first charter ship from the late seventeenth century, with some modifications. In place of cannon, she had modern naval guns, as well as modern facilities and navigation systems, and a motorised propellor as back up, for when the winds would not allow for sailing.

But most importantly, the _Meisje van Amsterdam_ was right there, in Alex’s line of sight. 

Alex had followed the ship all the way to New Zealand, all on a hunch about a dead man. When he had found out that Yassen Gregorovich was supposedly alive, Alex was determined to trek him down.

Of course, the contract killer was a hard man to find, even harder now that he was officially dead.

Alex had first found out Yassen was alive a year ago, from the MI6. The MI6 had revived Yassen’s body, and nursed him back to health, only to torture him for three years, looking for information. Nobody had told Alex the man had survived. 

Alex used this as justification to not tell the MI6 about his own investigation into Yassen’s whereabouts. Alex had two grainy photos, and one questionable eye witness account -- from a child who talked excitedly about an angel who had killed her abusive father, and when Alex had shown her a photo, she confirmed that it had been Yassen. The three pieces of evidence had placed Yassen in Eemshaven, Sint Maarten, and Colombo. 

Alex had looked into connections, and found harbour records, placing the _Meisje van Amsterdam_ at all three locations in the same time span that Yassen had been there. It could, of course, be a coincidence. It most likely was. But after the explosion in St. Pierre, Alex had stopped believing in coincidences. 

But Alex had found the ship, docked at the port of New Plymouth. The ship was guarded by men with concealed guns, and there were also the port authorities, that Alex had to get past, if he wanted to sneak onto the ship. 

He should turn around. Go back to England, and keep his head down until MI6 called him away on another deadly mission. Worst of all, he did not even know _why_ he was so obsessed with finding Yassen. Maybe because the man had died in his arms, or maybe because he knew Alex’s father, or maybe because Yassen had told him he loved him, and a part of Alex had always found himself drawn to the man, even as he tried to hate him.

Alex was perched on a roof he had climbed onto, looking through a pair of binoculars. There were five sailors loading up the ship with supplies, and there were four more departing. They were young men, each with an army duffle bag slung over a shoulder. 

_What was in those bags?_ Alex thought to himself, already deciding that he would follow the men. Slowly, he made his way towards the port, the men would have to go through the authorities, giving Alex the time to catch up to them.

He followed them through the grid of streets, staying a few paces behind them. The men entered an American style diner, which looked awfully out of place. 

Alex sat close enough to listen in, but far away enough not to draw any attention, the tall booth seats giving him cover. He ordered a coke, and waited.

The men spoke Dutch, a language that Alex had picked up quickly, due to his own fluency in both English and German. They spoke of the ship, their journey, and joked about what their replacements had coming. 

The four men, it turned out, where temporary deck-hands, who were now being switched out. If Alex could pose as a deckhand, he would be welcomed aboard. 

Alex had found out everything he could from the men, now he only had to switch places with one of the new deckhands. He paid his bill and left. 

The switch was easy enough, and Alex was astonished that the identification card of the man had no picture. Alex assumed the identity of _Julian Piek_ with ease. He stole the real Julian’s things, and donned his outfit. The two looked similar enough, with blonde hair, brown eyes, and a slim build. 

Alex showed the identification card to the port authorities, and then to the guards at the gangway, both of them letting him through. He was shown to his bunk, a white metal frame built into the matching metal walls, with a thin mattress, and a pile of sheets. The living quarters were barren, apart from the bunks, they each had a locker. Alex stashed his back inside his locker. 

He, and other other new arrivals were given an introduction, the rules were laid out, they had their jobs once again outlined, and were sent off to collect their uniform from the laundry room. There was a cabin boy, Alex guessed him around thirteen, waiting for them, and the boy helped the new arrivals find their sizes.

The uniform consisted of dark blue work pants, a white polo-shirt with a small embroidered insignia on the front, a nametag with their surname, and a marking on the right sleeve to show rank, a dark blue cap with the same insignia, work boots, and a black belt. 

There was a jumper, a zip-up fleece, and a sailing jacket, all in the same shade of blue, for winter, as well as a pair of work shorts. They were also supplied with a pair of mechanics gloves. They were allowed to wear long sleeve shirts underneath to polo, but only if they were white, black, or navy. They were allowed only black or white socks. 

“ _The uniform and your sheets will be washed for you, but you have to wash your own personal clothing,_ ” the boy explained, and added with a sly grin that showed the gap between his front teeth “ _or pay off one of us cabin boys to do it_.”

The men were sent off to get changed, and make their beds, and, as he neatly tucked in the corners of his sheet, Alex briefly wondered what he had gotten himself into. He did not have much time to think it over, as they were pulled away to work. The _Meisje van Amsterdam_ was shipping out.

It was, of course, Alex’s job to help with the undocking, and as he watched the port of Plymouth disappear into the distance, he knew there was no turning back. 

It had been four long days on the ship, and there was still no sign of Yassen. Had Alex been wrong? Has he been letting himself be worked down to the bone for nothing?

The schedule was rough. Wake-up was at five-thirty in the morning, breakfast at six, then hours of tough work until lunch at twelve. They got an hour of recreational time after that, followed by more work, dinner at seven-thirty, work again until ten, an hour of recreation, followed by lights out at midnight. 

Alex barely had time to snoop around, but one afternoon, as they had anchored near a tiny island, he took his post-lunch recreational period, to explore. He had heard rumours about the elusive first mate, who was taking a brief leave. Alex had tried not to get his hopes up. 

Breaking into the officer’s area had been easy, as was getting into the captain’s cabin. There was a desk, and a shelf. It was a good place to start.

Captain Huug de Ruiter was an intense man. He was exceptionally neat and perfectionistic. He was harsh, but fair. He pushed his men, but knew when to let them rest. Most importantly though, he was standing behind Alex, a gun pointed at his head.

“ _What do you think you’re doing, boy?_ ” Captain de Ruiter spoke in dutch.

Alex froze, he knew he had been caught, and he could not talk himself out of it. He had broken into the captain’s quarters, and was going through the papers in his locked desk drawer.

Slowly, Alex turned around. He could unarm the captain. But there was nowhere to go from there. The crew was fiercely loyal to the man, and he’d be shot as soon as the body was discovered. Alex doubted he could bring himself to kill the man in the first place

Alex did not dare look the Captain in the eye, in fear of infuriating him further.

“ _I’m sorry. I have no excuse._ ” Alex swallowed. 

De Ruiter raised a thick grey eyebrow, and nodded. Then, he marched Alex out of the cabin, without another word. 

“ _T_ _ake him to the brig._ ” The captain instructed two guards, and they walked Alex away.

The brig was a small metal cell, with a single metal bench, and a metal toilet combination unit. One of the walls was made of metal bars, and there were two meters between the cell and the heavy ship-door. Alex sat down on the bench, clueless about how he would get himself out of this. 

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Alex, a RIB was being hooked up to the ship, carrying a single man. The first mate had arrived from his brief leave of absence, and Yassen Gregorovich was climbing aboard the _Meisje van Amsterdam._


	2. Caught Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been keelhauled, nor could I find any first-hand accounts of someone who has been keelhauled, so the accuracy is limited. Sorry.

The leave of absence had not been for pleasure. Yassen Gregorovich had had a job on Motiti Island -- a man that thought he could retire onto the small island, after a life of atrocities. He had been wrong.

Still, Yassen felt exhaustion dragging down his bones. He had been dropped off in Auckland, and had to make his own way onto the island. It was safer that way, a ship like the _Meisje van Amsterdam_ was bound to draw attention, something he could not afford. 

It was cold, this time of the year, and Yassen wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a glass of spiced dark rum. 

Yassen was on his way to his cabin, it was exactly below the captain’s quarters, and only a bit smaller, when he ran into the man.

Huug de Ruiter was an old friend of his, who had given Yassen refuge, a job, and a promise of adventure, when he had turned up on the man’s doorstep, after he broke out of the MI6 prison he had been held and tortured in. De Ruiter was in need for a new first officer, and Yassen fit the position well.

Sure, the captain had a flair for the dramatic, and a love for traditions -- even the archaic ones -- but beneath that, he was a reasonable man, an excellent tactician, and a good captain. 

“ _Yassen, it’s good you’re back._ ” Huug clapped him on the shoulder, and followed Yassen into his quarters. “ _I caught one of the new deckhands sneaking around my cabin, going through my things. Was probably looking for something to steal._ ”

Yassen shrugged, not wanting to deal with the problem. He stripped off his boots, as well as his sailing suit, made himself a drink, and sat down on the couch.

“ _I should have him keelhauled, for his brazen display of disobedience._ ” Huug crossed his arms over his chest. “ _What do you think, Yassen?_ ”

“ _Do what you think is right, yes?_ ” Had Yassen been less exhausted, he might have protested. Keelhauling was a brutal and ancient punishment. But right now, Yassen wanted to be alone.

“ _Are you going to be there?_ ” Huug asked, seemingly having calmed down, now that he knew what he would do with the boy. 

“ _No, I don’t think so. I’m tired_.” Yassen took a drink from his rum.

“ _Well, if you change your mind, I’m having him keelhauled in two hours._ ” Huug left, closing the door behind him. 

Yassen drained the last of his rum, and stepped into the ensuite, already stripping the rest of his clothing. The bathroom was small, it held a toilet, a sink with a cabinet beneath it, and a small counter with drawers next to it, a mirror that opened into another cabinet, and a shower-tub combo.

Yassen stepped into the shower, letting the hot water work the knots out of his muscles. He washed the grime and salt of the last week off his skin, and hair, scrubbing until his skin was red and felt raw.

Afterwards, Yassen changed into a white t-shirt, and navy blue sweatpants, and laid down to sleep.

Alex was woken up, from a sleep he hadn’t realised he’d fallen into, by the door to the brig opening. A guard unlocked the door to his cell, and stepped inside. A second guard was standing in the door-shaped opening in the bulkhead, gun pointed at Alex.

The first guard took Alex’s shoes, socks, jacket, and fleece. His belt, shoe-laces, nametag, and cap had been taken when he was first locked in. Alex was only left in his pants and polo-shirt, and was marched onto the main-deck, a guard in front of him, and one behind him.

Alex was surprised to see the crowd gathered, most of the crew had been called onto the main deck. Their attention was on Alex. Some of them looked on with blood-thirsty glee, some of them looked at him with pity, some had stony faces; most of them, though, looked like they did not know what to feel.

Whatever was about to happen was big. 

The guards stopped near the edge of the deck, and Alex looked out onto the ocean. Would he be made to walk the plank? Alex could not see a plank anywhere.

It was cold, and the strong wind felt like an icy whip on Alex’s bare skin. He shivered, and swallowed as the crowd parted for Captain de Ruiter.

“ _Do you know what keelhauling is?_ ” The Captain asked, still in dutch.

It took Alex a second to place the word. On his first sailing trip with Ian, his uncle had joked about keelhauling Alex, when the boy -- only six then -- claimed he did not want to climb the mast. 

Alex nodded, not daring to speak. Why was the Captain bringing it up now? Would he? Surely not. Keelhauling was ancient, and even back then, it was used only rarely, and mostly by the Dutch navy. The Dutch navy. Of course. 

Captain de Ruiter was somewhat of a Dutch nationalist, and his ship was built to resemble the old ships of the line. His crew wore uniforms that, with their dark blue, crisp white, and embroidered golden accents, were more than reminiscent of a modern navy uniform.

At the Captain’s order, two crew members started to rig Alex. His hands were tied together in front of him, and his feet were tied together. Then, heavy chains were tied around his ankles. The bindings on his hands and feet were attached to rope that had been threaded through pulleys. 

Alex was lifted onto the taffrail, two crew members holding his balance, while he was lifted up by the rope attached to his feet, until he was dangling upside-down in the air, his body positioned so that, when he dropped, he would fall into the water. He was raised high enough to be at eye level with the Captain.

“ _Do you have anything to say, boy?_ ” De Ruiter asked, with finality.

“ _Can I have some Dutch courage_?” Alex smirked. The man might take offense, but really, what was he going to do about it? Keelhaul Alex?

At the Captain’s command, the rope holding him up was let loose, and Alex crashed into the ocean head-first. 

He barely had enough time to bring his hand’s up, in an effort to protect his skull. 

The impact left his body shocked, and, by the time he could feel the pain radiating from his wrists and shoulders, and the biting cold, he was being pulled by his wrists towards the keel. 

The tension forced his hands up over his head, leaving his body exposed. The weights that had been used to drag him underneath the waves were cancelled out by the pull of the rope, and Alex was dragged dangerously close to the razor-sharp barnacles, seaweed, and slimy algae. 

The cold helped numb his body, but still, he could feel the barnacles ripping up his hands and wrists, as he was dragged along the width of the hull. With an unfortunate twist of his hand, his left pinky was torn off. Alex wanted to scream, but that would mean sacrificing the sacred bubble of air he held in his lungs. 

The crew was inexperienced when it came to keelhauling, meaning Alex was pulled along in short, painful bursts. Alex turned his head, trying to hide it in the crook of his shoulder. It did him little good, and Alex could feel his face being torn open. An especially powerful wave misaligned with a tug, and Alex’s head bumped against the hull, his nose breaking. 

The pounding in his head, and the burning in his lungs was drowned out by the pain of his flesh being torn open.

The brief respite betweens the pulls only increased the main, giving him a second to recover, and amplifying the new burst of pain.

Alex tried desperately to turn onto his side, to minimize the area that the barnacles had contact with him, but it was a struggle; Alex had to fight to keep himself turned, and it pressed his side closer into the ship’s hull. 

Then, a particularly large clutch of barnacles got stuck on his hip bone. Alex could barely comprehend what was happening, but, at another tug, he continued moving along the hull. 

Alex screamed as his hip-bone was broken, the flesh torn off, and part of the bone shaved off. The scream let the salt water rush into his lungs, and Alex could feel the fight leave his body. 

As the world faded to black, the last thing he saw was the murky hull of the ship. 


	3. Sink or Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll tack on an extra warning for a tiny bit of eye trauma and eye gore.

Yassen had woken up from his nap, changed into his uniform, and settled down with a book. His mind was elsewhere though, and, eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to check on how the keelhauling was going. 

Yassen pulled on his jacket, and made his way to the main deck, the few members of the crew that were idly watching parting for him. Yassen watched, as the boy was pulled up, hanging limply by his wrists. His head hung, blonde hair concealing his face. The would-be thief was covered in blood, his clothes torn and hanging off him in rags. 

Two crewmen pulled the boy aboard, and Yassen moved closer. It was difficult, seeing the extent of the boy’s injuries from a distance with the amount of blood, and the bits of seaweed and algae sticking to him.

As he was laid down on the deck, and Yassen could see his face, his blood froze. It was Alex.

Immediately, Yassen pushed through towards Alex’s body, shoving aside crew members, and falling to his knees. Alex was not breathing.

“ _Get the doctor!_ ” Yassen ordered, as he started pushing down on Alex’s chest with strong, rhythmic thrusts of his joined hands. After thirty compressions, he tilted Alex’s chin back gently, and pinched his nose shut. Yassen pressed his lips around the boy’s mouth, creating a seal, and blew gently, watching the subtle rise of Alex’s chest. Yassen let out another breath, before getting back to the compressions.

“ _What is going on?_ ” Captain de Ruiter asked, looming over Alex’s limp body.

“ _I’ll explain later. Please, just trust me.”_ Yassen leant back down, adjusting Alex’s head, and blowing more air into his lungs.

Halfway through his third round of compressions, Alex sputtered, and retched, spitting out salt water, before gasping for a choked breath.

“Alex, look at me.” 

It was the first English words he had heard since he came aboard the _Meisje van Amsterdam_ , and it took Alex a second to place them.

Slowly, his eyes rolled over, his head tilting ever so slightly. There was a man leaning over him, he was handsome.

“Yassen.” Alex said, his voice weak and raspy, as he attempted to bring up a shaking and bleeding hand. “I found you.”

Then, Alex passed out, his hand dropping.

Yassen had Alex moved to the sick-bay, and instructed the ship’s surgeon, Dr. Bloemendaal, to fix up the boy.

Alex was in good care, and now, Yassen knew, he had to explain to Huug why he had fought to bring Alex back from the brink of death.

Yassen was still covered in Alex’ blood, when he found Huug on the quarterdeck. 

“ _Alex, the boy,_ ” Yassen started, “ _I know him.”_

_“I gathered that much.”_ Huug crossed his arms, leaning against the wooden railing.

“ _I think he’s here because he was trying to find me.”_ Yassen continued. “ _He was with me, when I ‘died’ on that plane.”_

Huug nodded, and dismissed him with an order to wash the blood off.

Yassen took his second shower that day, only this time, no amount of scrubbing was enough to wash Alex’s blood off his skin, out from under his neat, manicured nails. 

Yassen redressed, and went straight for the sick-bay,

The room was hot, and he took off his coat, hanging it by the door. Dr. Bloemendaal looked up from his desk as he entered, standing up with a clipboard, and walked towards the bed Alex was lying in. Yassen followed him.

“ _ow bad is it?_ ” Yassen looked over Alex. The blankets were pulled up to his chin, and half his face was hidden by two large gauze pads, a bandage was wrapped around his head and chin, covering his ears. His exposed eye was already swelling up.

“ _It’s not good, but he should live._ ” The doctor assessed, handing Yassen the clipboard that showed a detailed report of Alex’s injuries. Still, Dr. Bloemendaal outlined them. He was thorough like that.

“ _A large portion of his body is torn up, it’s a miracle that no major arteries were cut. Part of his ear was ripped off, as was his finger. He is concussed, his nose is broken, both his wrists are fractured, he has several broken ribs, and his hipbone is in bad shape: it is fractured, and part of the bone is missing. His knees have been skinned to the bone, and his right kneecap is dented in. He is hypothermic. I started him on antibiotics, there’s all sorts of gunk on the keel._ ”

Alex woke up in the evening, although he did not know the time. All he knew was that he was alone in a strange room, he was in agony, and he had seen Yassen earlier. Alex, predictably, attempted to get up, only for him to fall back down with a shriek as tried to move his hip. 

It came flooding back, after that. The frigid water, the sharp barnacles. The captain had ordered it, and Alex was most likely still on his ship, unable to move. Alex felt fear wash over him, the feeling uncommon for him. 

He lifted his hand, and froze as he saw the thick bandage. The finger. Lost now in the ocean. Alex could not hold back the sob that wrecked through him, the movement agitating his chest, pare flaring up that left him wheezing for breath. 

By the time Yassen came into the sick-bay, Alex had passed out again.

Yassen stayed the night, sitting by the boy’s bedside.

When Alex woke up the next morning, afraid and in pain, Yassen was there to soothe him. 

“You’re really here.” Alex’s throat had been rubbed raw by the salt-water.

“How did you find me?” Yassen stroked a hand through the tangled strands of Alex’s hair.

“I followed the ship.” Alex looked at him through one swollen eye.

“Smart boy.” Yassen smiled, and readjusted the blankets around Alex.

Dr. Bloemendaal walked in, his office hours had started.

The first thing he did, was to check on Alex. He administered antibiotics and painkillers, and instructed Yassen to get him some breakfast. 

Alex was too injured to eat by himself, and Yassen made sure not to overload the spoon with soup, as he fed him. Alex could barely open his mouth, the movement tugging painfully on his ripped up skin. 

“I didn’t know.” Alex started, eyes downcast. “That they had you, I mean. That you were alive. They only told me when you escaped. I was so angry with them, for lying to me!”

Yassen was about to respond with words of reassurance, when a crewmate walked in, his hand cradled close to his chest. Alex froze up, and Yassen could see the panic in his eyes.

It was one of the crewmates that had tied him up, but Yassen doubted that mattered much to Alex. It was a dangerous stranger, on the side of his enemy. And Alex lay defenseless in bed. Yassen knew that Alex could not stay in the sick-bay. Injuries were common on board, and with the cold weather, seamen were bound to get sick. Every new crewmate in the room would send fear cursing through the boy, and Yassen knew that would harm his recovery.

Once the man left, fingers splinted and bandaged, Yassen talked to Dr. Bloemendaal about moving Alex into private quarters. It was, of course, unconventional, but the entire situation was unconventional. Dr. Bloemendaal agreed.

Alex took little convincing, though he was delirious with pain and painkillers. 

They moved him that afternoon. Alex was transferred onto a stretcher, and two crewmates carried him across the ship. The doctor moved Alex’ medication, and some medical equipment. Yassen led the way.

The first mate’s cabin was large, and held a queen-sized bed, a small sofa with a coffee table, a desk, a bookshelf, and a closet. All the furniture -- apart from the desk chair -- was either bolted down or built into the wall. 

Alex was laid down onto the bed, and Yassen was quick to cover him up with the blankets. He had already turned the heating on. The two crewmates departed, and Dr. Bloemendaal gave Yassen one last rundown of Alex’s treatment plan, before leaving as well.

Alex slept most of the time, he shifted at some point, so he could curl up on his side. The few times he was awake, Alex needed assistance with most things. Both his wrists were broken, he could not walk, and he could barely see, with one eye swollen shut, and the other one covered. 

Three days later, Dr. Bloemendaal diagnosed Alex with pneumonia. It had come to no surprise. The boy’s body had been exhausted by the work on board, he had been exposed to cold temperatures, and his body was struggling to heal itself from so many wounds. 

It was bacterial, meaning the antibiotics would help clear it up, but it would still take time. Yassen frequently woke Alex to get him to drink, or to take medication meant to bring down his fever, and clear up his cough. 

One night, while Yassen was up reading, Alex had a coughing fit so bad it startled him awake. By that time, his painkillers would have been mostly worn off, and the hacking coughs would hurt his broken ribs.

Immediately, Yassen was at his side with painkillers and a glass of water, but more importantly, with gentle hands and soft reassurances that everything would be alright.

After a few weeks, his fever had gone down, and his lungs cleared up, and Alex was doing a lot better already. Of course, he still had a long way to go physically, and an even longer way to go psychologically. 

One day, while his bandages were being changed, Alex cried. It must have been the sight of his body, covered in so many jagged cuts. What was most concerning, though, were the blood-red tears that ran down his left cheek. 

Yassen finished up quickly, wiping away the tears before bandaging his face again. He waited until Alex fell back asleep -- he was always still so exhausted, before talking to Dr. Bloemendaal.

The barnacles, it turned out, had scratched up Alex’s eye so severely, that it was beyond saving, and was now slowly rotting away in its socket, due to the small bits of algae still trapped inside. They hadn’t realised before, because his eyes were swollen shut, both from the broken nose, and the cuts on his face, and the bruising had covered up any redness from the infection.

They had to operate on him again, and remove the eye, before the infection spread to his brain. First, though, Yassen had to tell Alex the news.

It was difficult, even for a man like Yassen, and he spoke in slow, quiet words. When Alex started to comprehend what was going on, there were blood-red tears running down his cheek again, and his entire body was being shaken by heaving sobs. Yassen held the boy, and muttered over and over again that everything would be okay.

The surgery was tense. It had to be performed under a local anaesthetic, meaning Alex was conscious for all of it. Yassen held Alex’s hand, and told him one of the few lighthearted stories from his childhood, trying to distract the anxious boy. Dr. Bloemendaal had been assisted by his son, who was on his way to become a doctor as well. 

A week had passed since the surgery, and Alex was recovering well. His wrists were nearly healed, and Yassen had started guiding him through a few rehabilitating exercises for his hands and wrists. 

Still, he had his bad days. Today was one of them. His pain was flaring up, but more than that, Alex was doing bad mentally. Yassen treated the pain with medication, but there was little he could do for Alex’s mental state. 

The boy had slept poorly the night before, plagued with nightmares. Yassen had sat with him, and stroked his hair until Alex calmed down. Now, Alex was tired, upset, and jumpy. 

To make matters worse, the sea was rough with a storm, and Yassen could see the way Alex shook with every crash of thunder or the flash of lightning. Yassen closed the porthole coverings. There was little he could do about the noise though.

Whenever Alex was starting to fall asleep, there was another rumble of thunder, and he was startled back into wakefulness. The ship was swaying with the waves, and though they both knew she would not capsize, it mattered little when it came to Alex’s anxiety. 

“Yassen?” Alex asked, his small voice filled with abashed uncertainty. “Can you--”

He cut himself off, and wiped away one of the tears that made its way down his cheek. 

Yassen walked over -- he had wanted to give Alex some space -- and knelt down in front of the bed.

“What is it, Alex?” As another crash of thunder made Alex jump, Yassen wanted to reach out. He stayed his hand.

“Can I have a hug?” 

“Of course.” Yassen sat down on the mattress, and pulled Alex into his arms, careful of his wounds.

They sat like that for a while, before Alex spoke.

“There was this mission. A cult in Alabama, they had weapons and were completely crazy. They recruited a lot of teens, and brainwashed them. I was sent to infiltrate them. But, they caught me. And they--” Alex swallowed. “They crucified me, I was alone in the middle of a field. And, there was a thunderstorm, a really bad one. I was so scared. I could hear the storm coming nearer -- it was behind me -- and I knew that once it reached the field I would be hit.

“I got out, managed to pull myself off the cross. But, I don’t know. It stuck with me, I guess. I’ve been scared of thunderstorms ever since. I feel like a child, scared of a little weather.”

Yassen could feel Alex jump at another crash of thunder. He tightened his hold on the boy.

“Being scared of thunderstorms after such a traumatic event is nothing to be ashamed of, Alex. You went through a terrible thing. But you know this, Alex. You just feel like being cruel to yourself.”

Alex curled closer into the hug, knowing Yassen was right.

Eventually, Yassen managed to lull Alex to sleep. Still, he stayed with him, holding Alex as he slept. 

Yassen could see the confusion in Alex’s face the next morning. Alex was curled around Yassen’s side, head resting on his chest, while Yassen was sitting up.

“Good morning.” Yassen put down the book he had been reading, and picked up Alex’s morning medication and a glass of water instead.

“Morning.” Alex yawned, and took the pills gratefully. 

Alex made no move to untangle himself. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Yassen’s chest, and laid back down. Yasssen indulged him, and petted softly through the blond hair. It was getting long. Yassen found that he liked it. 

“Yassen.” Alex was incoherent with sleep. “I think I love you.”

“I love you too, Alex.” Yassen shifted, so he could look at Alex. “You should know this.”

“That’s what you said when you were dying.” Alex smiled softly. “But do you mean it in the way that I mean it?”

“Depends.” Yassen moved closer. “Do you mean it like this?”

  
He kissed Alex, softly, on the lips. Alex recorporated, their kiss slow and lazy. Eventually, Alex pulled away, his lips still brushing against Yassen’s as he spoke:  
  
“That’s exactly how I meant it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy! I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
